YOUNG CHAKOTAY SNAPSHOTS 1 Flight of the condor
by vanhunks
Summary: New series that chronicles the life of Chakotay from a young boy to his adolescence and first year Academy cadet. Each new story is a little snapshot from his life and could give a some insight into what shaped him as an adult and Starfleet officer on Voyager. First snapshot entitled "Flight of the condor" in which we see a boy climb a mountain.


YOUNG CHAKOTAY SNAPSHOTS

This new series of snapshots was inspired by a thread on VAMB [Voyagerangel Message Board]Thanks to scwusa  who added much incentive to the idea.

I've taken the plunge and decided to write a series of snapshots around YOUNG CHAKOTAY, each story with its own title. It will chronicle the life of Chakotay until his first year as an ensign on a starship.

1\. For my canon, Chakotay's homeworld is **Dorvan**. It makes more sense to me as we have actually seen an episode on TNG about this planet and its fate in the DMZ.

2\. This story has not been betaread so all mistakes are mine.

3\. The characters of Kolopak and Chakotay are not mine; they belong to Paramount. No copyright infringement intended.

 **FLIGHT OF THE CONDOR**

The boy trudged along the rock-strewn path, stomping down one foot in front of the other and creating little dust clouds as he walked. He wore strap sandals carved from the skin of rock dwellers that roamed the mountainsides.

"Remember, my son, those are skins from the rock dwellers killed by other hunters. We do not kill…"

"Yes, Papa."

He remembered his papa's words as he looked at his shoes, the straps faded and soles worn. They were his favourites, even though his papa made new ones for him.

The sun was high and seared his skin, but that did not deter him. He was strong and tough; he'd removed his shirt and hitched it inside the belt where he'd also hooked his water canister. Despite his mother's warning about sunburn and that he should be careful and always wear a shirt, he liked to walk bare-chested and would not even wrap his shirt around his head to protect him from the sweltering sun. He hiked, a lone figure growing out of the harsh landscape, casting long shadows as he moved. Behind him followed an ocelot, soft-footed cat of the wild, keeping a distance behind the boy who appeared unaware of the animal's presence.

It was a long walk and sweat poured down his temples, chest and arms. His mouth was dry, so he stopped to take a sip from his canister, just enough to keep his mouth and lips moist. He remembered the warning of his papa, that he conserve water as long as he could. On impulse he shook the canister, satisfied that he had more than three quarters of the precious liquid left, enough to last him the whole day.

He liked the outdoors and preferred roaming the hills, the crags, plotting his own trails, so much so that his body, already tanned, burned even darker. He smiled to himself. His mother would cluck worriedly and rub his body with lotions until the burn subsided, declaring, "And tomorrow you go to school and come straight home."

He was not in a mood for school today. He knew everything they taught the children. He knew the work of kids a lot older than him. He could read when he was three, his proud mama always told the other mothers and was altogether too clever for his moccasins. He tried telling her it was being to big for his boots, but he understood what she meant. Mama had wanted him to be accelerated to the senior classes, but Papa was always wise.

"No, Hannah, he must be a boy among boys and play and enjoy their games."

So as soon as school was out and all the children ambled towards the village, he walked until he found his favourite rock to stash his bag before continuing towards the high mountain. He'd learned everything about the chaparral and the fauna of his planet - the alpacas, camels, bushbucks, ocelots, wild boars and impalas his papa had said was brought long ago from Earth to Dorvan.

But it was the great birds of the high mountains that fascinated him and that was where he was heading. He ignored the scorching sun, ignored the way his upper body perspired. Once before he invited his cousin Tomaso to walk with him, but Tomaso turned back when he'd hardly walked two kilometers. Now, sweating profusely, his pitch black hair that curled on his shoulders was plastered to his skin. He sensed now that the ocelot followed him, but kept at a safe distance. He'd seen the cat many times before and once even managed to stroke its head when it ventured close.

He remained alert, made sure he followed the track accurately over the uneven terrain. When he stumbled, he kicked up some dust that made him sneeze. He laughed when the ocelot scurried away at the unaccustomed sound, but the ocelot, not to be discouraged from following the boy, returned and kept a safe distance. The boy was nearing the canyon where he'd seen the great bird before.

"Papa, what is that bird?" he'd asked his father the first time he'd seen it.

"It is a condor, son, brought from Earth to this new habitat. I think they like it here!"

His papa had smiled when he spoke and the boy, his attention briefly diverted from the bird, stood open-mouthed as he watched the dimples in his papa's cheeks. Then he'd touched his own cheeks and tried to find the furrows his mama had said were just like his papa's. He'd nodded very sagely, awed by the giant bird which he later determined had a great wingspan, larger than any he had ever seen and fed on carrion He was still only a little child when his papa told him that.

From their abode in the village they could see the canyon ridge that gleamed blue in the distance on cloudless days. But now he had reached the base of the hill that formed the approached to the top. Only a few more minutes of climbing, perhaps even half an hour, he supposed. The sun was beginning its descent, its glaring white colour slowly painting the sky with a soft orange glow. The boy paused, turned and glared at the ocelot. "You stay there or go. Go to your home…"

Then he removed his water can and took a sip to cool his dry throat, the desire to gulp all the water overpowering.

"No," he scolded himself. "I must keep my water. Not waste it. I will not make Papa angry again."

So he climbed the next few minutes in deep concentration, using his hands to find purchase against jutting rocks and exposed roots of chaparral, crying out when he brushed his arm against a thorn bush. A red weal was already forming and he winced at the strong burn. With a sigh he opened his canister and poured a little water over the scratch. Then he continued, breathing heavily, letting air whoosh from his lungs. Yet he kept going. He was fitter than most of the boys in his school. So when he reached the top of the ridge he took a deep breath. He took many deep breaths. He turned to look in the direction of the village but he couldn't see it any more. Maybe the ocelot did run home too as he scanned the area at the base of the hill.

Silhouetted against the setting sun he stood right at the edge and gazed over the canyon. He seemed unconcerned about the magnificent depths, the sheer drop to the bottom or the danger of the ravine. Shielding his eyes from the sun he searched a long time until he saw a moving speck, but only just because it took off from a ledge on the other side and it blended in a little with the grey rock face of the ravine. It soared into the sky, higher and higher, its wings spread, swooping and diving and lifting with the air beneath it. The boy thought it was the most beautiful thing he had seen in his life. In great, giant circles the condor flew, the swooping movement reminding him of the shuttles he had seen from time to time in the sky above his village.

Deep down in the ravine he could hear the rush of the river. It was the only sound he heard, and he had to listen quite hard. Above him the condor swooped towards him and he laughed because it looked as if the great bird greeted him by dipping one wing.

It was the same one he had seen before, a red tuft on the head, white soft plumes around its neck and the feathers white at the base and pitch black along the shaft, the wing tips spreading like black fingers. The condor flapped and the boy mimicked the flapping of the bird, on and on and on as if it invited the boy to fly with him. High on his toes the boy stood at the edge of the precipice until it became painful doing so. Standing quite still he kept his arms outstretched as far and as long as he could hold them.

And his eyes were on the condor that seemed to speak to about the beauty of flight. It lifted and flapped, swooped like a dancer on the village square. It flew off in a long, looping curve before returning and repeating its action. The boy was breathless with joy.

Then the condor hovered right in front of him and he could see its eyes, the wings almost still as the air lifted it.

The boy threw his head back, his arms outstretched to the sky, the waning sun kissing his upturned face.

"I am you…"

Kolopak saw his son standing at the edge of the ridge and he turned cold with fear.

He had been told that Chakotay had not returned home from school. He'd berated Hannah gently for allowing the boy to wander off on his own. She'd assured him that the child would be back, he knew his way around the terrain. Did he not do that all the time and tested his Papa's patience? Did not Kolopak ride everywhere on his magnificent stallion with young Chakotay sitting in front of him, teaching the boy about the land?

Chakotay stood dwarfed by a giant condor that hovered in front of him, a beast of the air, bigger than the condors of Earth and respected by all the tribes of Dorvan.

Kolopak removed his sandals and made his way slowly up the ridge, careful not to startle the boy and the bird. With racing heart he tread among the rocks until he stood just behind his son, astonished that the boy could command a beast of the ar. Swiftly, but with great gentleness he grasped Chakotay away from the perilous edge. The condor, startled by the sudden disturbance, took flight, soaring into the sky, becoming smaller and smaller until they couldn't see it anymore.

Kolopak guided Chakotay down the mountain until they hit even ground. Then the boy broke loose, his lips trembling with rage.

"It is dangerous, son, to stand so close to the edge, you know that. You could have been injured very badly or died."

"I was safe, Papa. Why did you take me away? I didn't fall and break my leg - "

Kolopak, not very patient with his first born son right now, pulled the boy closer to him, resisting the urge to shake Chakotay very hard. He had feared for his son's life! He gave a deep sigh. To Chakotay everything was so simple, unaware of how dangerously close he was to falling off the precipice. He could have fallen to his death. That didn't seem to perturb the boy. It was not the first time Kolopak had come to the canyon to rescue Chakotay from possible danger, even death. He wondered how many times he would have to challenge his own son who was still only seven years old, born with the wisdom of the world.

Kolopak put on his sandals and took his son's hand and began the long trek to their abode.

"Why do you do this every time, my son?" Kolopak asked. "You know that a boy had fallen down there and - "

"Condors are scavengers, Papa."

"I know that, son."

By the time a team of villagers had climbed down to the river, the condors had already begun feeding. Chakotay knew that, as every young boy of their tribe knew of the dangers in the mountains. Kolopak shook his head at the memory and implored the spirits to keep his son safe.

Then Chakotay stopped in his tracks, his anger forgotten. He pointed in the direction the condor had flown until it vanished from the sky, now a red glow in the late afternoon.

"There, Papa. One day, I want to be up there…"

END


End file.
